He's dead
by 007JR
Summary: Once Q got sick, Bond was terribly worried about Q's well being. But the better got the worse out of Q. What will happen?


_"He's dead."_

 _Please note, some of these sentences or paragraphs are from Lay It Down._

Q should have seen it coming, but then again, hindsight is always 20/20.

The ache had been in his chest for several days. It was nothing serious, just a weight that rested heavily on his sternum that sometimes made breathing a bit more of a chore than usual. "You're not breathing right, Q. You're temperature is not right either. Looks like you're under the weather." Bond articulated.

Q detested the way Bond judge his wellbeing. He knows clearly without doubt that he will be fine. Why would Bond be perturbed about his health anyway? Q roused from his sleep and found that the curtains were drawn. It was raining, again. Yet, it was still dark outside. "You ought to go to medical, Q." Bond broke the silence. "I am fine, Bond. I don't need to be taken care of." Q groaned. He then wore his glasses and headed to the bathroom to get ready.

Glancing into the mirror, Q skimmed through his hair and face. It looks pretty well taken off, except that the fact was he never really bother to trim his hair short. He reached for his toothbrush and toothpaste and started brushing his teeth. "Darn it, It's a Monday." He thought to himself. Q then showered under the burst of hot water, which alleviated his pain in the chest.

Wrapping a towel under his arms, he went to the kitchen and made himself a Earl Grey Tea, as he always preferred it. It always kept him awake from what is happening.

 **Q…..**

Q made it into his office, proceeded to take two too many Panadol for his headache, choking them down with the last dregs of his cold and awfully bitter Earl Grey. The aftertaste of this mixture made Q cough, which hurt both his head and chest more than he wanted to admit. Q cursed his weak lungs; as this would always happen when the weather turned colder. Bond of course, was right that he was under the weather, but damn if Q would say it aloud.

"Sir?"

Q did not think that he had zoned out that badly, but his computer monitors sat dark in front of him in sleep mode. A hesitant worker was positioned in the half open doorway to Q's office. He carried with him a stack of folders nearly covering his face.

Internally, Q sighed. When would MI6 learn to accept the fact that it is the 21st century and start doing things electronically? It seemed like Q had to read all those paperwork written by those workers, Eve, and even worse, M. He cursed at his own way of accepting the job of being a Quartermaster in MI6.

Q's headache flared up with new force as he asked the man politely to put it down on the corner of his desk. After the man left, he leaned back on his chair rubbed his eyes thoroughly, realising finally that he had been aching all day.

Q switched on his computer and wore his headset. Five minutes later, his headset beeped.

"This is Q."

"Hello, darling Q."

Q was glad that he wasn't drinking his Earl Grey. He swore that he would choke on his Earl Grey if he heard Bond say 'darling' to his ears.

Q had another cup of Earl Grey, fully filled, with two sugar cubes. He needed more tea to feel better.

"I suppose you are going to log on to your computer soon, Bond."

"Will do."

Q heard Bond's computer boot up, so Q explained deeply in detail of what was happening and what was his target, and so on.

"Now, Q. How's your day?" Bond interrupted Q.

Q was actually irritated at Bond's total ignorance on the case. He was supposed to focus on the duty given by M, not ask about anything like this. But anyway..

"I've been drowning in a sea of paperwork. I don't even think I can see my desk anymore. For Heaven's Sake, why can't everything be done via email? It would be so convenient by then." Q ranted, because he knew that this was the total truth. "Bond, help me if you find this interesting for you."

"Not at all, Q." He said, and Q could immediately tell that Bond was lying. He grumbled to himself and drank some tea. The undissolved sugar cubes irritated his throat and Q coughed, wincing when it pulled from deep in his chest.

"Q?"

Q muted his headset and coughed until he felt lightheaded. The cough rattled his lungs, but at least it cleared up his throat. After that, it took him almost a minute or two to recuperate and be able to draw breath without his entire body hurting. The cough was getting deeper, settling further down in his chest. "Don't let it interfere with work. Not now." Q thought to himself. Then he took a deep breath, and un-muted his headset.

"Q? Are you alright?" Bond asked.

Q was lethargic of the constant coughing that happened just now. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, of course I am. My tea was too hot." Q lied through his teeth.

"Bloody Hell, Q. Don't you dare lie to me. Your tea should be cold by now."

"It's just my tea. For heaven's sake, Bond. Why won't you believe me?"

"Because you always lie to me."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do. You choked on undissolved sugar cubes. That's the best possibility."

Q was flabbergasted. How could Bond know about all this stuff? Did he deduce or did he knew Q too well? Should Q stop letting Bond into his own apartment? All these questions were flying around his brain.

"Q?"

"What do you want, Bond?"

"Why are you not talking?"

"I'm thinking, if that's any of your business."

"It's my business to take care of you, Q."

Bond felt a sudden urge to come back from his field duty and hug Q, or possibly take him to Medical.

"Please, Q. Go to the Medical."

"Bond, I told you. I'm fine."

"Just listen to me."

"No. I'm well, and I don't need a doctor. I'll go when I finally feel sick."

"In that case, go home."

"It's just 8pm, Bond."

"You need to wake up early tomorrow."

"No."

"Go home." Bond ordered, this time with a booming voice.

"Alright, Alright. Goodnight, Bond."

"Goodnight, Q." Bond said, and rang off.

Q sighed and leaned back in his chair for a long time. Going home would mean getting up and putting his coat on, walking to the end of Q Division, taking the lifts up, passing through security, walking a block to the tube, and then taking the tube for six stops, getting off and then walking another two blocks to his flat. From there is was five flights up and a long walk to the end of the corridor. The thought of the exercise made Q feel physically exhausted. He did not have the energy yet, and resolved to do a bit more work before attempting to go home. Maybe if he sat down long enough, he would feel a bit more inclined to stand up again.

So he started with some of the emails on his laptop, then got frustrated with some of the requests and gave up, turning his attention instead to the stack of paperwork that had been living on his desk before his nightshift worker came in to put the new pile of folders. The first paperwork almost made him flip his desk over. It was patently _infuriating_ that he had to do all of this menial work... He then spent the next ten minutes coughing himself into a painful fit. The burn in his chest only added to the rage he felt at the entire audit procedure.

The telephone rang as he flipped through the pages upon pages of horribly handwritten notes that made him painfully crossed eyed. It looked like a train wreck and he could not stop looking through it, despite the fact that his headache made him feel as if his right eye were about to liquify in its socket. The phone rang again and Q picked it up on his Bluetooth automatically.

"This is Q."

"Are you _still_ at work?"

When Bond's voice came through Q's earpiece, he cringed and looked at the clock. It was nearly two-thirty in the morning. He had only expected to stay for an hour, but time had gotten away from him.

"No... I have my work phone forwarded to my mobile..."

"Q."

"I'm leaving now. You caught me walking out the door."

Even to Q's ears, it sounded like an outright lie.

"Whatever you're doing right now, put it down," Bond instructed using his Navy Commander voice, Q did as he was asked and closed the folder. There was only so much resistance he could manage against a double-oh after all. And he was very tired... "Now, turn off your computer, put on your coat, and clock out. Take a cab home."

"Fine..." Q said, logging out of his email, the server, and everything else. He powered the machine down with a sigh and stood up. When he stretched, his back made sounds that were probably not good for someone his age. "Goodnight, Bond."

"Goodnight, Q."

 **Q…..**

At three in the morning when it was bitter cold and raining, it was hard to find a cab. Q managed to hail one down about a block from MI6, where taxis loitered near a cluster of pubs around closing time. Q hopped in one and, too tired to worry about his usual safety procedures to prevent being tailed, gave the driver his address. It took only twenty minutes before Q finally arrived home, where he dropped his bag, coat, and soaked umbrella onto the floor in the cluttered foyer. He had the presence of mind to lock his door and activate the alarm system before kicking off his shoes and stumbling the length of the hallway towards the bedroom, where he bodily fell into the mattress and into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Q's whole body hurt, centred around the ache in his chest that seemed to have gotten worse over the past few hours. He laid on bed for some time, forcing his lungs to expand and contract despite the pain in each effort. All he wanted to do was go back to sleep, but duty called. He had meetings to attend and paperwork to do, but most of all, he had Bond out in the field, counting on him. It was the thought of Bond that gave him the strength to put on his glasses and slowly climb out of bed.

Q then dragged one of the blankets with him and kept it around his shoulders as he shuffled into the kitchen to make tea. He put the kettle on and then sat at the kitchen island, hunched over in the warm microfibre.

Soon enough, the kettle whistled and Q got up slowly to take it off the hob. Then he dropped a teabag into a mug, added in the hot water, and two sugar cube, returned to his seat in the dining room. A few sips of scalding tea had Q burning up, and he dropped his blanket on the floor carelessly. Then he spent a few minutes coughing into his elbow before leaning forward to rest his forehead against the cool marble counter top. The dizziness threatened to overwhelm him for a moment and his stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sensation. It constituted an impressive display of self-control that Q did not retch right there. Needless to say, he felt like a bloody mess.

 **Q…..**

Stripping his clothes, Q stepped into his hot shower and stayed there for an indeterminable amount of time. The heat eased the dull ache in his back and shoulders, but it soothed him almost too well.

When Q arrived, it was 0932. The day shift was back and they all openly stared at him as he walked in and made for his office. Q rarely came in past 0900, only breaking this habit on occasion when his agents were in drastically different time zones that required alternative hours. Even when his work stretched into the early hours of the morning, Q was always back the next day at HQ by 0900 without fail. This was the first time in his appointment as Quartermaster that he had arrived late. Try as he might, Q could not figure out where the extra half-hour had come from, but then gave up his attempts at an excuse. There was nothing wrong with letting his people think that he had overslept or-heaven forbid-had a life outside of MI6.

A nasty round of coughing distracted him for a moment and Q suddenly wished that _sleeping at home_ was the only thing on his list. With a wheezing sigh, he dropped his wet umbrella in the stand behind the door, pulled off his dripping coat, and had just started up his computer.

The phone rang. It was Bond, of course.

"Darling, are you alright?"

"Of course I am, Bond. Please stop with your cheesy remarks."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." This time, Q's voice sounded hoarse.

"You should go home. You look ill. I'll come straight back to London now."

"You will not come back until your mission is completed." Q said, with clear finality, thanking gods he did not believe in that his voice did not give out.

"Understood, My dear Q."

"I said, stop with your cheesy remarks. It makes me uncomfortable."

"If you want to stop, obey me, and go home and take a rest."

"Alright.. Alright.."

Bond hung up the phone call and sighed.

 **Q…..**

Q did went home. The lifts weren't working, forcing a weak Q to climb the stairs.

At the landing of the third storey, Q had to stop, because he could barely breathe. Q wheezed desperately for air, hunched over and clutching at the railings until his knuckles turned white. The rest of the journey afterwards was just as painful as he made his way slowly to the top floor. By the time he reached home. At his door, he took the keys from his bag, put one in and turned it, then removed it to put in another, which he turned the opposite way. Q let the peephole perform a retina scan, then he pushed inside and immediately turned to disengage a secondary security system.

Q found some paracetamol in his drawer beside the bed, and swallowed it with water. It tasted bitter as usual, but he had to take it to prevent himself from having another attack of an headache, despite knowing that it wouldn't work.

He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling which was always so dull. He should be working, not lazing on a bed and not doing anything just like any average person would do.

 **Q…..**

Bond, in the another hand, decided to stop working out at the field, since he has been there for at least four days. Despite not finishing his mission, he arranged his own flight back to London-a testament to how much he desired to be home when he could have coerced someone else to do the job for him-and tried to, but did not sleep that night. The police were still outside and roaming the halls, collecting evidence and statements and overall making a scene. Bond lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling as he listened to the commotion, missing the mattress he shared with Q, thinking that the sheets did not smell right and the building did not sound the same as that tiny flat in London.

The noise died down around three in the morning, but Bond still did not sleep. He got up at five and checked out of the hotel, dropped the Audi off with their contact at the rental car agency, and went straight to the airport. There, he boarded the earliest aeroplane out of the country and spent the duration of the short flight staring at the front page of The Times, not reading a word of it as he tapped his fingers anxiously on the armrest.

Once he returned to London, Bond hailed a cab and took the roundabout way to Q's flat. He hoped that the morning commute would be all the security measures he needed to avoid a tail.

 **Q…..**

Q was sleeping softly on the soft mattress, with his blankets covering his whole body, because the weather outside was blistering cold, making Q shiver despite the amount of blankets he wrapped himself with.

 **Q…..**

Bond removed his soaked jacket and hung it next to Q's behind the door, then he slipped out of his wet shoes and left them neatly on the mat to dry. The flat was sitting quiet and still, the fact that a few things had been disturbed since he left for four days for work. Bond noted that nothing stood out of place in the kitchen and since there were no takeaway containers piled in the bin, that meant Q had not eaten. Even more worrisome was the lack of a kettle cooling on the back hob, which alerted Bond to the fact that Q had not yet been up at his habitual hour to make tea. Q had to be sick if it was quarter to nine and he still had not had his first cuppa.

The bedroom door was half-way opened, and when Bond came inside, he found it cold (like Q) and dark with the curtains tightly closed. The only source of light came from the red numbers on the alarm clock next to the bed. Bond sat down on the mattress and set down his bag, careful not to rouse Q with a ruckus.

He pulled back the curtains slightly so that he could see the other man; Q looked impossibly young when asleep, but even more so when ill. There was a fragility there not present during Q's waking hours. He was the Quartermaster of MI6: the person agents depended on with their lives and British citizens entrusted to protect their freedom. There was no room for softness when he was running Double-Ohs on their missions or virtually fighting against terrorist cells around the world; Q had to be a pillar of strength, someone with a quick mind and a borderline-cold professionalism. It was the only way to get things done, after all, and Bond respected him immensely for that. But then there were moments like these, when Q looked so very small and vulnerable that a single touch might break him entirely. It made Bond want to put his arms around Q and hold onto him, protect him, and never let go.

Bond restrained himself, content to bring his hand to Q's hair, when he ran his fingers through the slightly sweat-dampened locks. He could feel the warmth of a low-grade fever radiating from Q's skin despite the cool temperature of the room.

It took some time for Q to wake, and when he finally did, he only managed about half-way. His eyes were dark with sleep beneath his eyelashes.

"Bond…" he said, blinking slowly as he came into awareness. When Q recognised him, he slid a hand from beneath the blanket, seeking Bond's. Hot fingers pressed weakly against his palm. Bond raised them to his lips and kissed them tenderly; Q hummed appreciatively. "You're back..." he murmured, and then smiled in that sleepy way he sometimes did in the mornings: so open and unguarded and innocently happy that Bond could not help but smile back. He smiled even though Q's voice sounded broken up from coughing and he looked washed out and his hand felt so, so small that for once in his life, Bond did not know what to do.

"Yeah.. Q, you should sleep."

"Mm…"

Q did as asked.

Thinking that it would be best to let Q sleep a little more, Bond took up some clothes and left for the bathroom. On the way, he knocked the thermostat up a few degrees to get it a bit warmer in the flat. Then he took a long, hot shower, trying to wash away the anxiety that had built up over the past few days. In the process, he accidentally used Q's soap instead of his own, and although he did not mind the subtle scent of mint, Bond much preferred it on Q's skin than his own.

While drying off, Bond heard Q coughing, harsh and wet from the next room. He swiftly tied the towel around his waist and went to check on Q. Q still laid on his side facing the curtained window, his back to the door, and of course, made no move to get up. The coughing died down for a moment, but Bond himself waited at doorway until Q fell asleep again.

After assuring that Q was asleep, Bond went into the kitchen to make himself his usual coffee, and made sure to listen for any sounds of distress. As Bond filled the kettle with water, he heard coughing from down the hall, muffled by a closed door. A little while later, he heard the toilet flush followed by the sound of running water in the bathroom as Bond poured the water into a cup.

When Q started coughing again and did not stop, Bond put his cup on the countertop and ran to investigate. He found the bathroom door open just a crack, allowing Bond to let himself inside. Q stood hunched over the sink with his hands braced so tightly at the edges of the countertop that his knuckles were white; his back and shoulders strained visibly with each cough. It seemed like Q took a long time to calm himself down, taking what seemed or sounded like near-desperate breaths on each inhale. Then Q leaned over the sink to spit a few times, washing it away quickly with a torrent from the tap.

"Are you alright?" Bond asked, when Q did not look up at him. Bond can barely even see Q's reflection on the mirror with his head held so low. Q did not reply, so Bond stepped inside. He did not want to cause more pain than comfort using his hands. "Q?"

"Fine," Q said, the single word sounding forced. Bond heard something distinctly wet move in his chest and then he began to cough again. It did not last long, but had Q spitting up phlegm into the sink again, which he rinsed away with cold water.

Bond helped Q to the bedroom and laid him on bed. "I'll be back, alright? I'll need to get you breakfast."

"Mm.."

Bond took one last look of Q, then left the bedroom and wore his shoes, hurried down the flight of stairs to the nearest convenience store to get some food.

 **Q…..**

Q laid on bed, feeling breathless. "I'm not dying… Am I..?" Q thought to himself. The way his body reacted to his fever and cough was tragic. He's sweating, he's trying everything to stay alive, he's desperate to live longer, he's desperate to have Bond by his side..

Soon enough, his vision became blurry, his heart rate slowed down a lot. Q's body is forcing him to shut down. 'Not.. Now.." He thought to himself.. 'Just not.. Now..' Q's eyes flickered once more… '"Bon—" and Q's eyes shut tightly.

 **Q…..**

The queue at the convenience store was as long as a snake. Bond was standing, impatiently tapping his shoes on the ground as he carried a basket filled with some cans of soup and a bottle of cough medicine. He could just punch everyone in front of him and make them go behind him. But, he stayed calm. "Q will be fine." He thought to himself.

After he bought the stuff he need, he raced up the flight of stairs and unlocked the door. He ran into the room to check on Q, and dropped his groceries. "Q..?" Bond asked, feeling weird. He went closer and pressed two fingers on Q's neck. Q isn't breathing. "Q!"

Bond dialled '911' immediately. He walked up and down, talking loudly to the assistant. The assistant has already sent an emergency ambulance to Q's flat, so it should come anytime soon.

When the ambulance arrived, the rescue personnel carried Q to the stretcher, and Bond followed them to the ambulance. The electrocardiogram shows that Q was dead, and soon, the personnel pronounced Q dead.

"He's dead." Bond uttered softly, as the tears in his eyes welled up. "He's dead.." He uttered again.

And of course, this is the end of the story of Q, though this is just a fan-fiction and nothing is true, Bond will live in depression till the day he die.


End file.
